


In the Dark

by ohthislove



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthislove/pseuds/ohthislove
Summary: You are a Satanic nun in the Chattering Order of St Beryl and are tasked to help switch the Dowlings’ baby with the antichrist. However, you’re not as keen to go along with it as the rest of the order.





	In the Dark

“At some point this evening, Mrs. Dowling will arrive. She will undoubtedly have Secret Service agents with her. You are all to ensure that they see nothing untoward,” Mother Superior detailed to the cluster of nuns buzzing with excitement in front of her. “Sister Theresa and I will deliver the Dowlings’ child in room four. Once he has been born, we will remove the baby boy from the mother, and give her back our master’s child.”

She demonstrated this on a rectangular whiteboard facing vertically. It was lined like a graph sheet of paper and had the basic symbol of a woman in the middle. Mother Superior took off the symbol of a normal-looking baby from its place next to the woman. Instead, she lifted the symbol of a baby with horns sprouting out of its head and placed it where the other baby had been.

“Everything is ready. Tonight, it begins.” She beamed at us proudly. However, her prideful expression fell when Sister Mary raised her hand. She sighed. “Sister Mary Loquacious?” she called on her.

“Yes, excuse me, Mother Superior,” the nun said in her irritatingly high-pitched voice, “I was wondering where the other baby is going to come from. Not the American baby. I mean, that’s obvious. It’s just the birds and the bees,” she rambled on, “but you know, the...” she trailed off and tried to convey what she was attempting to say with her wild, brown eyes.

“Master Crowley is on his way with our dark lord-to-be, Sister Mary,” Mother Superior answered matter-of-factly. “We do not need to know more than that.”

A titter of excitement ran through the group at the mention of the demon’s name. He happened to be a favorite amongst them, probably because he was rumored to be the most attractive out of all of the legion of hell. You had heard some of the nuns before bragging about running into him or even spending a night with him, though you were quick to take their tales with a grain of salt. Crowley hardly visited the convent to give orders. It was usually Hastur and Ligur who were the ones to carry out Satan’s dirty work, so you were surprised Crowley was getting involved with this operation at all. However, you had never had the pleasure of being in the presence of a demon. That was usually an honor saved for the highest ranking nuns, and you were the youngest of the bunch.

“We are Satanic nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl, and tonight is what our order was created for,” Mother Superior declared, and the group erupted with murmurs of elation. “Sister Grace, you are on duty reception. Sisters Maria Verbose and Katherine Prolix, you will assist Sister Theresa,” she read off of a clipboard in her hands. “The rest of you know your duties. Places!”

In the distance, the muffled wail of a siren could be heard. It slowly grew louder as the source of the noise approached, only adding to the convent’s increasing enthusiasm. For them, this assignment was the culmination of a year’s long work come to fruition. For you, it felt like utter damnation. The nuns scattered to the winds in a flurry of black, pointed habits, their polished shoes clicking against the tile floors. The only ones left standing in the room were you, Mother Superior, and Sister Mary.

“Excuse me, Mother Superior.” Sister Mary walked up to the head nun. “I didn’t get a job. Probably an oversight.”

You could read the agitated look on her face loud and clear, though you bet Sister Mary was oblivious to it. “Yes, of course.” Her tone completely opposed the emotion her countenance conveyed. She thought up a meaningless task for the nun. “You could make sure there are biscuits - the kind with pink icing. I think we had a tin in the convent larder.”

Sister Mary gave her a curt nod, disappointment in her eyes. She hurried away, and Mother Superior rolled her eyes once her back was turned. Then, her hawklike gaze settled on you where you were still standing at the back of the room.

“What are you standing around for, Sister (Y/N)?” You could sense the impatience in her voice.

“I didn’t get a job either, Mother Superior.” Although, you weren’t surprised. It was typical as the youngest member of the convent to be forgotten or left out of things. You didn’t necessarily mind it, either.

She folded her hands in front of her. “You can patrol the grounds, make sure no one interferes with our master’s plan. If you find anyone who doesn’t belong here, alert me or Sister Theresa immediately, understand?”

You nodded, and she left you alone with your thoughts. You knew she was just making up a frivolous task for you to complete, one with little to no consequence if executed poorly, just like she had done for Sister Mary, but you were grateful for it. The more time ticked on, the more the feeling of dread that had settled in your gut swelled. You weren’t sure why, but every breath you took felt like it was drawing closer to your last.

You turned around and stared up at the hulking statue of Adam carved out in marble. A serpent snaked between his legs and wound itself up around his body: Crowley. You had been born into a family of Satanists, studied and were taught their ways from a young age and as you grew up. They operated under the belief that if they played a part in bringing about the end of the world, their dark master would reward them, but you knew better. One thing you were sure of was that angels and demons, gods and monsters didn’t care about the human race. They merely used them as pawns in a giant game of chess. As you stared at the stone snake slithering around Adam, you wondered if Crowley had known what he was doing that day in the garden, or if he had been just as much in the dark as you were now.

You walked around the convent, trying to stay away from the halls where the plan was being carried out and avoiding anyone at all costs. The convent was actually kind of soothing at night. There was nothing around for miles except thick, green forests and open fields, so it was completely silent. So silent, in fact, you could hear the slightest creak of the floor under your feet, and the sound echoed in the spacey rooms. The indigo hue the light of the moon shone down on everything made the yellow, fluorescent lights inside seem warmer like a soft glow instead of the usually sickly and sallow appearance they gave.

You ventured closer to the center of the convent and came across a window peering in on the narrow corridor leading to the door to the parking lot. A couple stood there talking to a couple of the nuns. The woman was obviously very pregnant, her short, golden hair slightly mussed, and drops of sweat running down her flushed complexion. You couldn’t hear her through the window, but you were sure she was huffing and screaming up a storm. The man beside her looked frazzled. He had dark, slicked back curls and a round, kind-looking face. The nuns dragged the woman away from him, and he retreated out the doors to smoke his pipe. _That must be them,_ you thought.

You were back in the main room again, just passing through when you heard an unexpected hiss. It caught you off guard, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. You snapped your head to see a man lurking in the corner of the room. He must have come in through the side door. He was concealed in the shadows, so you couldn’t quite see his face. All you could make out was the faint outline of his figure.

You stepped tentatively closer to him. “Excuse me, can I help you, sir?”

You heard a low chuckle. “Can you help me?” he repeated. “Yes, certainly indeed.” He stepped into the light and held something out to you. “Take it.”

You looked down at the object in his hand. A large, woven basket dangled from his long, thin fingers. Your eyes widened in realization. _Crowley._

You took in his appearance. He was tall and lanky, with luscious, dark red hair that hung loose to his shoulders in waves. He wore tight, fitted, leather pants that clung to his long legs and a black, military blazer. A gray tie hung loose around his neck, like he didn’t really care enough to fix it properly. He dressed like one of those rock stars from the eighties you had only ever seen pictures of. A pair of heavily tinted shades concealed his eyes, leaving the only indicators of any emotion he conveyed to be his brows, his pink lips, and the wrinkles lining his slim cheeks and chiseled features. You didn’t really know what you had expected a demon to look like - maybe a creature with more scales, or a slimy tail, or sharp, yellow fangs - but you certainly had expected one to take the form of a man so disarmingly attractive, so _tempting_ to look at.

“Master Crowley, forgive me.” You bowed your head in an act of supplication.

He tilted his head to the side. “You’ve never seen a demon before, now have you?” You slowly straightened your posture and shook your head. “That’s all right. I hardly recognized you. I thought all nuns were supposed to old, shriveled up hags. I didn’t expect someone so...” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Sister (Y/N),” you squeaked.

“(Y/N), stop dilly-dallying and take it.” He shook the basket in his hand slightly.

Your gaze lowered to the basket, and all the moisture was sucked from your mouth, leaving it as dry as cotton. It was closed, but you knew what was hidden inside. “I-I’m not supposed to take it.” You nervously wet your dry, chapped lips. “Sister Anne and Sister Jane are supposed to retrieve the child.”

“Do I look like I care, darling?” He arched a brow at you. “Take it to room three.”

You furrowed your brow. _Room three? I thought it was supposed to be room four._ “Has there been a change of plans?” You tried to sound cheerful, but your wavering voice betrayed you.

“How in the hell am I supposed to know? I’m just the glorified delivery service.” He walked closer to you, the thick soles of his black boots solid against the rug-covered tile. “Now, take it before we both screw something up and get ourselves in deep trouble.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the basket came closer to you, and you stumbled back. You felt paralyzed, every muscle in your body seizing with fear, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the basket. Crowley said nothing for a while, and you were sure if you could see his eyes, you would see them staring intently at you.

“You’re scared,” he said the words, so clear and concise and short, but they felt like daggers imbedded in your skin. “You don’t want to go through with this, do you?”

You finally ripped your gaze away from the basket and looked at the sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. You could see your reflection in the black glass. It was so dim inside the convent, you figured he must be hiding something with them. But glasses or not, he could see right through you. It was like he was staring through a window right to your soul, like your skin and bones had become transparent and he had direct access to all the thoughts swirling in your head like a thunderstorm.

“You want to turn your back on this place and never look back,” he stated like he was reciting the words a voice whispered in his ear. “You don’t believe in all the convoluted nonsense the others do.”

“How could you possibly know that?” you snapped, probably a little too harshly to be addressing your supposed master.

“I’m a demon, darling. I know everyone’s deepest and darkest desires, all the things they’re too ashamed of to say out loud.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Tell me why.”

You drew your brows together. “Why what?”

“Why you’re not like the others.”

You blinked. You had never really thought of yourself like that. You had always just thought there was something wrong with you. “My parents are Satanists. They forced me to join the convent or they would disown me,” you said so casually, but the words tasted sour on your tongue. It was the bitter truth, but you knew better than to lie to a demon.

He nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with your answer. “Look.” He inched closer to you and lifted the lid on the basket. “He can’t hurt you.” The corners of his lips curled into a smirk. “Not yet, anyway.”

You dared to peer into the basket. A baby with ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes laid on a red, cotton blanket. He had whisps of light brown hair on his otherwise smooth head and chubby arms and legs. He wriggled slightly, soft whimpers and cries falling from his lips. There was nothing out of the ordinary: no sharp horns, no spiked tail, no razor-like talons, no hoofed feet. He looked like any other normal baby, but beneath his creamy skin, there was dark, unbridled power in his veins unlike anything the world had ever witnessed before.

“I’m not afraid of him.” You looked up at Crowley. “I’m afraid of what comes after him.”

His thin lips twisted into a small, understanding frown. “I know.” He pushed the basket in your direction. “Here. Take it.”

You lifted a shaky hand and wrapped your fingers around the handle. The woven straw itched and bit at your skin, turning it red. You looked down at the child, and you swore for a second, his glossy eyes met yours. Crowley’s hand rested on top of yours, drawing your attention from the baby.

“If you ever decide to run away, darling,” the shaded glass of his sunglasses reminded you of the void of space, “you know who to summon.” He raised his free hand and drew a pentagram in the air with his finger.

You nodded. You had known how to summon a demon since you were eight years old; you just never thought you would ever need to before. He slowly removed his hand from yours, leaving you to hold the basket all on your own. Your skin felt cold. You closed the lid on the basket so you couldn’t see the child anymore.

Whatever softness had come over Crowley before vanished, and he pressed his thin lips together into a straight line. “Now, hurry up and take it to room three before our dark master has both of our heads put on spikes.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He whirled around with a grand flourish and sauntered away with a distinct sway in his hips. He retreated to the corner and practically disappeared into a puff of black smoke. For some reason, you had a strange sense of foreboding deep in your bones that you would see him again, and surprisingly soon.

You walked circles around the convent until your feet basically made indents in the tile floor with every step. The basket felt heavy in your hand, like you had the weight of the world in your grasp. You practically did. Your knuckles turned white from gripping the handle so hard. You had convinced yourself it was fine before when you were complacent in the plan, but now that you had a direct hand in moving along the destruction of humanity as you knew it, you were on edge.

You whipped your head from side to side like an eagle searching for its prey. No way would you be the one responsible for switching out the baby with the literal prince of hell. You drew closer and closer to the center of the convent, looking for someone to pass the deed off to. The first nun you came across was Sister Mary carrying a tin of small, circular cookies coated in a thin layer of pink glaze. _Perfect._

“Sister Mary,” she looked up at you, and you walked closer to her, “I have the child. Take him to room three.” You kept your voice low.

You practically shoved the basket into her arms. She took it gratefully, her eyes flashing with jealousy for a moment that you had been the one to see and hold the antichrist first. But then, she flipped the lid and smiled down at the infant. It was the complete opposite to the reaction you had, leaving you feeling like you were staring through a funhouse mirror or stuck in the twilight zone. Your actions and your thoughts were out of place and abnormal in the convent.

“Is that him?” she asked. You merely nodded in reply. “Only I’d expected funny eyes, or teensy-weensy, little hoofikins, or a little tail.” Her tone was sugarcoated, and she rocked the basket in her arms almost lovingly.

“It’s him,” you confirmed. He was made to blend in, to learn all of humanity’s weaknesses, and then strike when the world wouldn’t even know what hit it. A monster amongst men.

Laughter bubbled from her lips. “Fancy me holding the antichrist, counting his little toesie-woesies. Do you look like your daddy? I bet he does. Do you look like your daddy-waddykins?” she cooed.

“Don’t forget to take him to room three. It’s of the upmost importance,” you repeated. You didn’t think she was paying you any attention, and you had been so involved with getting your hands off of the basket, you failed to think of finding someone competent enough to complete the job. A shudder ran through you as you thought of what would happen if you and the rest of the convent were to fail.

“Room three,” she repeated. “Do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?”

“Hope not.” You turned away, not standing to listen to her incessant babbling any longer. You wiped your hands on the skirt of your habit like they were covered in grime. You sucked in a deep breath. The deed was done. Now, all you could hope for was that you made the however many years you had left count before the reckoning was upon you.

-

You went back to meandering around the convent. You decided to go outside and roam around the grounds, taking in the sound of an owl hooting and the refreshing, night air. You were about to pass through an archway with your hands clasped behind your back and a pleasant smile on your face when you spotted three figures. Two of them you recognized as Mother Superior and Sister Theresa, but the third was completely unfamiliar to you. Whoever it was had wiry, stiff, white hair that stuck out in all directions and nearly translucent skin. He wore a soiled trench coat that made him look like he had crawled out of a grave, and his face was all sharp lines and hard edges. His eyes were pitch black like two dark holes burrowed deep into the Earth, and dark circles hung under each soulless eye.

You repressed a gasp, and instantly, a sinking feeling filled your gut. The nuns had their backs to you, and you ducked out of the stranger’s eyesight before he could spot you. You pressed your back flat against the brick wall and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Our mission is done, Lord Hastur.” You recognized Mother Superior’s voice. “The baby is in place, and his parents are none the wiser.” You went slack jawed. You weren’t sure what you were more surprised by: that you had seen your second demon of the night, or that Sister Mary had followed the instructions you had given her.

“Well, no need for the convent any longer, then, is there?” You expected his voice to be gravelly and deep, but it was shockingly light.

“I’m afraid I-”

“Dissolve,” Hastur cut Mother Superior off.

Your heart stopped beating in your chest. _Dissolve?_ “What?” Mother Superior was just as confused as you were.

“Your order is dissolved,” he declared.

“We’re what?” Rage infiltrated her tone.

“Now hang on a moment,” Sister Theresa spoke up. “We did everything that was asked of us! What about our reward?”

“So irritating,” he groaned. “You never shut up, do you?”

“We are a chattering order. We say what is on our minds, and right now what is on my mind is that you can’t treat us like-” Sister Theresa suddenly stopped talking, and you heard what sounded like a body dropping to the ground. You peered around the corner to see her lying on the gravel, her blank eyes wide open and her limbs stock still. It was like all the life had been drained from her in a single second. _Fuck._

Hastur turned his gaze to the petrified Mother Superior next. “Would you like to tell them that the order is dissolved, or would you rather that they all perish in the fire?”

Alarm bells started ringing in your head. “What fire?” she asked.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the stormy sky open and struck the wing of the convent opposite from you with a deafening crack. There was an explosion of sparks as the convent caught on fire. The orange flames easily spread throughout the building like it was kindling waiting to be lit. You could feel the overwhelming heat from where you stood, and the air crackled with electricity. Mother Superior shrieked as she ran away, her shoes crunching against the gravel. You watched the other nuns flood out of the building like a dam had burst. They scrambled like chickens with their heads cut off, their high-pitched screeches bouncing off of the walls, but Hastur’s cackles were louder. You didn’t think you’d ever see a demon smile, but the grin on his face was bone chilling and made bile climb up your throat.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you. Most of the nuns headed for the open field next to the burning convent, but you went the opposite way and ducked into the forest bordering a road. You didn’t know how long it stretched for, but you’d take your chances of getting lost if it meant you’d get away from Hastur. It began to rain, and your drenched habit started to slow you down. You chucked it off, feeling instantly lighter once the heavy, woolen garment was gone.

You pushed through the brambles and the underbrush and the trees. The thick foliage blocked out the scarce amount of light from the moon, shrouding you in darkness. It made no difference whether your eyes were closed or not. You couldn’t see, and you didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know if you had anywhere to go; you only followed the instinct inside of you to keep running. Branches reached out and scratched at your skin like claws. You tripped and fell at one point, losing your shoes to the thick, sticky mud. Your bare feet pounded against the ground, splashing in puddles of dirty rainwater and cutting on jagged rocks. The sound of blood rushing and rumbling thunder filled your ears. In the distance, you swore you could still hear the crackle of fire and the nuns’ piercing screams.

You practically tumbled out of the forest and onto the shoulder of a back road. You stumbled out into the middle of the concrete, your mind in a daze. The blaring of a car horn cut through the sounds of the forest, and you turned your head to be blinded by bright, white headlights shining directly into your eyes. Before you knew what was happening, a black Bentley barreled down the road, headed straight for you.

You froze, glued to the spot. You willed your legs to move, but they remained rooted to the ground. You were a deer caught in headlights. You were trapped, and by your own body, nonetheless. You saw your life flash before your eyes, and every muscle in your body tensed, preparing for impact. _This is it._

But it never came. The Bentley screeched to a halt inches from you, the back half of the car flying up so far you thought it would flip over and crush you. But then, it fell back down as if it had been pushed by an unseen force. The car rocked back and forth on its wheels as it came to a rest. The door to the driver’s seat swung on its hinges, and the driver hopped out.

“What the hell?” The hair on the back of your neck stood on edge. You knew that voice. The demon Crowley rushed forward, squinting his eyes at you. “(Y/N)?”

Wait. His eyes. You could see them now. He still had the frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, however slightly askew, but the glass was shattered, most likely due to the sudden stop. His eyes were a bright, golden yellow like marigolds in a field, and he had one black slit separating the halves of each eyeball. _Like a snake’s,_ you realized through your foggy brain.

“I thought I told you to summon me, not run out into the middle of the bloody road! You could’ve gotten killed! Fuck!” He settled his hands on his hips, seething with anger. His rage slowly simmered, however, when his reptilian eyes raked over your form. “Are you all right? What happened?”

It came to you then the state you were currently in. The headlights were still on, illuminating your shivering form. Your thin tank top and shorts were soaked with rain and clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination. Your skin was smeared with mud and covered in goose pimples and uneven scratches leaking ruby red blood. Your hair was stringy and wet, sticking to your forehead. Your eyes were wild as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to preserve any bit of warmth your body could hold onto.

“Hastur dis... disbanded the convent.” Your speech was disjointed from the chattering of your teeth and your rapid intake of breath. “He set the con... convent on fire. He tried to... tried to kill us.”

Crowley combed his hands through his unruly curls, the emotion in his eyes unreadable. “Hey, it’s okay, darling.” He slipped off his blazer and draped it over your shoulders. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to get you.”

He scooped you up in his arms effortlessly. Your head swam with the heady scent of his cologne and aftershave and the slight smell of smoke wafting off of him and invading your senses. He carried you over to his car, and you latched onto him like your life depended on it. Your nails dug into the gray fabric of his t-shirt, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry about your car,” you murmured into his chest. The once shiny and flawless exterior was now scuffed and scratched. Dents littered the surface, and all the air had been sucked out of the back tire, reducing it to a hunk of limp, black rubber. White clouds of smoke billowed out from under the hood. The engine must’ve busted.

“That’s all right, darling,” he whispered, his voice surprisingly soothing. You heard what sounded like crunching metal, and whipped your head to see the car repairing itself. Except it wasn’t repairing itself. _He_ was the one repairing it.

Crowley opened the door to the passenger’s seat with his foot and set you down gently inside. He sat you up before carefully closing the door so as not to hurt you. He ran around the other side and got in, slamming the door shut securely behind him. From this new angle, you could see the black snake tattoo just by his right ear.

“So, where to?” He leaned over the armrest to click your seatbelt into place.

You offered him a weak smile. “I was hoping you would have the answer to that question.” You pulled his blazer closer around you.

He pursed his lips, deep in thought. He took off his broken glasses and assessed the damage. He tossed them over his shoulder out of the half rolled down window. Then, he reached over and opened the glove compartment. You saw multiple pairs of the same glasses inside. He snatched one up and slid them onto the bridge of his nose, once again concealing his eyes from you.

“I think I know someone who can help.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a wide grin, revealing two rows of pearly, white teeth. “Don’t worry. He’s an absolute angel.”


End file.
